


In good hands

by RewritingTheRules



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, F/F, M/M, Modern AU, school au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RewritingTheRules/pseuds/RewritingTheRules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jean is living every guy's dream and Marco is a dorky paramedic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Good Hands - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> “You can never have too many college AU’s”  
> My friend, 2k15. 
> 
> You can thank them for this thing even existing. 
> 
> Somehow I managed to dream the cheesiest JeanMarco AU ever, I still have no idea what happened to me that day to trigger it but whatever. I woke up feeling like I’d just watched JeanMarco the movie, so I told the friend I mentioned earlier about it. As I told more people, they demanded I wrote it down so here I am today.
> 
> I hope this’ll be somewhat enjoyable for you guys. If so, let me know! And, if not, also let me know, because I try to improve my writing with every chapter I write. Thanks a bunch!
> 
> <3, 
> 
> Sky

Prologue.

  


Every school has The Guy. That one guy all guys wish they were, and all girls wish they were with. Someone ripped straight from one of those stupid slice of life movies you know you can’t resist watching. Whether it’s a comedy, a drama, a romance or a horror; every school based movie has him. The smooth, athletic, handsome, rich, good-with-the-ladies... did I mention handsome? Right. That would be me. To really kick off this introduction; good morning, afternoon, evening, or whatever time it is over there. I’m Jean Kirschstein; star player of the Trost Titans and son-in-law every parent dreams of bragging about to their equally simple minded co-workers. Homecoming king? You bet. Getting into fist fights on a daily base? Maybe. Stealing lunch money? No fucking way. Even I have morals, you know. But, what were we talking about again? Oh right, me.

 

I’m in my third year, meaning that next year will be my last one before I’m out of here to travel the world and find hidden treasures with my parrot sidekick and mermaid harem. Yo-ho, motherfucker.

 

For real this time, in two years I’ll be playing sports with the pro's. Any day now, scouts will show up like hungry dogs and they’ll be fighting over me like I’m the most delicious treat they’ve ever seen (which I am, obviously). Yep, your boy Jean is going to make it big. I can already see the signs, hear the cheering, the applause, the endless chanting of my name and a live concert of Hot Chocolate as [‘You Sexy Thing’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7-m9uG50mSw) is being performed and- wait a second…

 

My little imaginary storytelling gets interrupted roughly by my alarm. 'You Sexy Thing' is now paired with an annoying buzzing pattern and I groan, cursing the split second I had the “good” idea of placing my phone far away from my bed, to force myself to  get up in the morning to turn off my anthem. After groaning in self-pity for a while I manage to get my ass out of bed and drag myself over to my desk, where I hit the snooze button with a grumpy expression. Even though the time I spend in school can’t be considered a bad time, I’d much rather spend it in bed, playing some halo or watching movies or whatever it is teens do to be unproductive. Sadly enough, today we had to select rookies for the team and with we, I mean myself. One very big pro to being a rich daddy’s boy, every man from around my father’s age treats me like I’m some sort of prince. Most people do, actually, but that’s besides the point. What I’m saying is, the coach practically carries me around on a golden throne when it comes to the team. My needs are a must and my opinion is the law. You’d think a position like this would turn me into a selfish, cocky bastard. To that I must say, you’re absolutely right.

 

I love it. But who wouldn’t? I’ve got the coolest friends, I’m dating the hottest cheerleader of all and I’m basically living every guy’s dream.

 

Every _straight_ guy’s dream, that is.

 

 


	2. Chapter one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [cliche]In which Jean is a sarcastic ass, Connie's an idiot and Marco saves the day.[/cliche]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry for the (extremely) slow updates. I'll try to keep updating every now and then, I've got the whole story thought out I just need to write it down, but I'm also working on a visual novel which is my main priority right now and it's eating all my writings. Sorry guys!

An abomination to humankind. That’s exactly what this is. Sinful, tasteless, disturbing everyone within close reach. It should be illegal. Hell, it probably is! Where was God, during this creation process? I’m pretty damn sure he wouldn’t approve of this. By far the worst cup of coffee I ever had in my 19 years of existence. 

Fuck this shit.

Did I mention I’m not a morning person? Yeah... 

I chuck the cup of coffee in a nearby trash bin and groan. Remind me why my roommate likes to have liquid agony for breakfast and call it coffee? He might as well chew on his boyfriend’s shoes for all I care, it’ll probably taste the same. Maybe even better, if he’s lucky. The guy sweats like a beast. 

They’re not half bad. Loud, maybe. And terribly awkward. Reiner is your average football player; a big guy with a tough face and a matching haircut. Earlier mentioned boyfriend Berthold is a little less obvious when it comes to the game, but he’s good at what he does. Both are great players, and with the way they’re inseparable from their third musketeer, who is in fact a girl, no one suspects their secret relationship. 

No one but me and Connie, that is. Oh, the joys of late night party games. 

I shiver at the memory of the two losing themselves in a kiss Connie had provoked with a dare, for no other than entertainment reasons. Connie likes to think of himself as quite the prankster, but it backfired when the sight of his teammates’ intense make-out session got burned into his memory. I’d have laughed and given him a hard time, if it hadn’t been equally disturbing for me. 

You see, our school isn’t very… Accepting, when it comes to being anything other than straight. Which is why I’ve been keeping my new found sexuality a secret. One I’ve been keeping pretty damn well, if I may say so myself. But, what do you expect? It’s not like people are going to assume you’re gay, or even expect anything when you’ve got the cutest cheerleader clinging to your arm like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Speaking of which-

 

“Jean~ I missed you! How was the gym yesterday?” 

 

“Oh, the usual. I’m getting there.” Cue handsome half-smirk. 

 

“Already there babe, already there.” I get a sweet smile in return as her small hands softly squeeze at the trained arm she’s clinging to. Christa Lenz is definitely the most desired girl in school. Too bad the most desired guy beat all the other guys to it. 

She and I, we started dating in the second year. Around that time, I had the biggest crush. Not on her, though. Oh no. Armin Arlert was the bastard who made my heartbeat speed up, or some shit like that. He was clumsy, shy and incredibly adorable. The way his big blue eyes stared up at me in fear after he’d bumped into me in the hallway. He’d fallen, his perfectly arranged stash of books scattered on the floor around him and my iced-coffee dripping from his golden hair, staining the white blouse he was wearing. 

-

“Watch where you’re going, you dipshit!” I hissed. “For fuck’s sake, that was good coffee too!” 

 

“I- I’m sorry!” God, he’s adorable. “I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry.” 

 

“Like hell you are. How are you going to pay for this? My coffee is spilled and my mood has gone to shit.”

 

“I- I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Oh fuck me. 

 

“Oh, it’s alright… Happens to all of us, right guys?” I look behind me to face Berthold and Reiner. The taller guy just nods nervously,- remind me why I’m putting up with his shit again? Oh right, Reiner, who is smirking at me, his eyes glowing dangerously. I look back at the little blond boy, who’s gathering all his books and trying to stand up. I push his shoulder slightly and make him lose his balance again, causing the books to drop once more. 

 

“Let us help with that. Berthold?” On cue, Berthold picks up the boy’s books, stuffing them in the light blue backpack and swinging it on top of the lockers, out of his reach. The kid seems to realise that he’s in trouble, and he looks down, hiding his head with his arms, giving in to whatever is going to happen to him. I smirk, looking at Reiner. 

 

“How about we help him get that coffee out of his hair?” Reiner takes the hint and lifts the boy in his strong arms, carrying him to the nearest washing room where he puts him down in one of the public bathroom stalls. Two guys who’d been doing their business there hurriedly get out of the place, and by now the little blond is crying. 

 

“Leave it to me, Reiner. Stand outside, knock twice when teachers are coming.” I say, and Reiner gives the kid one final push against the stall before he leaves. 

 

“P-please, I really didn’t mean to spill your coffee, I- I’ll get you a new one!” I look the miserable boy up and down and sigh, taking off my jacket. The kid is lucky I’m wearing multiple layers today. I hang my jacket over the door and take off my white and blue striped shirt, revealing the black sleeveless shirt I’m wearing underneath. I toss the shirt to him and flex my arms before putting my jacket back on. 

 

“Change into that. Don’t tell anyone, or I’ll fucking kill you!” So much for being nice, Jean, Great job. 

 

“W-why are you-“

 

“What?” I snap. “Helping you? Being nice? Who knows, consider it your lucky day.” 

 

“Why are you hiding behind an asshole mask when you’re actually a good person?”

 

Ouch. 

 

“Watch it, kid.” I hiss, pointing a warning finger at him. He quickly turns away and starts to unbutton his shirt, peeling the wet fabric off his skin and folding it neatly even though it’s dirty. He walks to the sink and starts to wash his chest with a couple of wet paper towels. He then sticks his head under the faucet and washes his hair. He attempts to dry it with some more paper towels, but his hair reaches past his ears, so it’s a little tough to dry without a towel. He eventually gives up and puts on the shirt I gave him. He makes eye contact with me through the mirror, and at that point both him and me realise that I’ve been staring at him. I clear my throat and look away. 

“Thank you.” he says, turning around to face me. 

 

“You’re welcome, Ehh-“ I realised at that point that I didn’t know his name. He quickly helped me out though, introducing himself as Armin. Silly name.

 

“Nice to meet you, Armin. I’m-“ 

 

“Jean. I know. Everybody knows you.” 

 

Well this isn’t awkward.

 

“R-right. Cool.” Smooth, Jean. I’m just about to say something to either make the situation more awkward or somehow hilarious, when two quick knocks sound from the other side of the door. 

 

“Fuck. Okay, that coffee you owe me? How about 4 this afternoon, at Starbucks on fountain plaza.”

 

“W-what?” I’m asking you to come join me for coffee, idiot. What else?

 

“You better show up! I’ll mess you up if you don’t!” Romance has never been my strongest point. Or, any of my points at all. 

-

And that’s how Armin and I started having little gay coffee dates every other wednesday. 

 

No one in school knew, of course, and we were both alright with that. He helped me with my history homework, and I made sure he didn’t get in too much trouble with the big guys in school. It was an unspoken friendship. The only problem was the fact my intense need to kiss him whenever he licked the whipped cream and strawberry frappuccino from his lips. 

Or when he pushed his hair behind his ear, or even better; when he pulled it back into a little ponytail. Damn those little ponytails.

My need to kiss him also grew whenever he bit his lip as he looked at a difficult math problem, or when he tried to decide what to order even though we both knew he’d go for the strawberries, like usual. 

Let’s just say that my general need to kiss Armin Arlert at any time of the day was starting to get in the way of our little friendship, and I had to get rid of that somehow. 

And that’s when Christa Lenz transferred to our school and joined the cheerleaders. Silky smooth blonde hair, big blue eyes and a cute face. She was the perfect candidate to help calm my feelings down, and she soon became the biggest mask and act I’d ever put on. She still is, to this day.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Jean! You’re such an asshole, using that poor girl like that.

And to that I say; you are absolutely right. I’m an asshole, and I’m probably going to hell for using sweet, sweet little Christa like this. But for all I know, being gay is a sin of it’s own, and most likely enough to send me straight to hell anyway,- no pun intended. So fuck it.

 

Halfway through my ride down memory lane Christa and I part ways for our first class, and soon enough I’m joined by Connie. He usually runs late, grabbing his stuff in his own room. You see, because Connie and I are aware of our roommates little… relationship, they gladly take advantage of the situation and spend time with each other intimately during the only time they can without anyone noticing; the night. Reiner slips out of our room at around 8, joining Berthold and Connie in their room. It usually takes Connie about 30 minutes to then flee to my room, where he’s been crashing ever since he first had to witness one of Berthold’s sleepovers. 

Biology is over in a flash, as I spend it talking to Connie about the upcoming tournament. History ironically seems to last forever. 

I skip math, because fuck math. 

 

-

 

By the time training starts I’ve already finished a couple round around the field, and the coach seems more than pleased about that. I consider him my biggest fan. Apart from my girlfriend, of course, who’s convinced some of her friends to visit every training with her, to cheer us on even as we prepare for the games. She’s a gem, I tell you. 

Our relationship is perfect, in most ways. She talks, I listen. I play sports, she cheers. We don’t spend time together besides school, and we’re both content this way. She’s clingy in front of our friends and schoolmates, but if we happen to be alone she doesn’t bother with affection. It’s great. 

She'd shyly confessed to me that she’s not ready for any kind of intimacy, and I’d been the perfect boyfriend, telling her I’d wait for her to feel ready, assuring her that I wasn’t going to push her. 

Or, myself, for that matter. 

The idea of her pretty little body wrapped around my lower regions makes me want to throw up, but I’m not about to tell her any of that. 

 

But, apart from my lower regions and general sexual interests, our relationship is going pretty well. And as she cheers me on from the side of the field, I force my lips into a small, signature smirk and raise my hand at her as a greeting gesture, acknowledging her loyal cheer. This would’ve looked pretty cool, if not for Connie running into me like a maniac, tackling me and taking off with the ball I’d been holding. As I realise I’m falling, my heart skips a beat in a way similar to the little heart attacks you get when you reach for your phone in your pocket and it’s not there. My head hits the ground and I groan.

 

“Fuck-”

 

The coach blows his whistle loudly and my teammates are called to a hold, Connie gets yelled at for being an idiot while Reiner helps me sit up. 

 

“Hold on, don’t help him up! Don’t move him!” 

 

What the- Am I supposed to stay on the fucking ground then? I open my eyes to glare at the person telling my roommate to just leave me be, but the brightness forces me to shut my eyes again. Fuck. 

 

“Oh shit, coach, he’s bleeding!” 

 

“Leave it to the paramedic, Reiner.” 

 

We have a paramedic? Shit, people are loud. I feel someone placing their hand on my head and I flinch. 

 

“What’s his name?” 

 

“Jean! Jean Kirschstein.”

 

“Thank you. Jean? Can you answer me?” I groan and open my eyes slightly to try and look at the person. 

 

“Fuck…” Great answer, Jean. A+. My sight focuses and I notice I’m staring into a pair of chocolate brown eyes, frowning slightly with concern as they scan my face. 

 

“Jean?” he repeats my name, still concerned, probably wanting an actual answer. 

 

“Y-yeah..” That seems to be a good enough reply for him to show a small smile, dimples appearing in his freckled cheeks as his eyes squint slightly with the expression. 

 

“I’m Marco, your paramedic. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think through the comments or on my tumblr, I appreciate your opinion and it helps me stay motivated (: <3
> 
> Tumblr: RewritingTheRules

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments, or message me on tumblr~ 
> 
> rewritingtherules.tumblr.com  
> or  
> ask-real-jeanmarco.tumblr.com


End file.
